


hsi name iis chace wtiha j

by melbopo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Blacking Out, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Everyone is of drinking age in this fic, Fluff and Humor, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Potential Kidnapping ???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melbopo/pseuds/melbopo
Summary: prompted by the lovely claire(@carstairsbane) for jimon and line 33: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”fromthis list!





	hsi name iis chace wtiha j

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to the amazing emily ([@mrsblackthorne](http://mrsblackthorne.tumblr.com/)) for betaing for me - ily!!!!
> 
> I've been wanting to write a fic about this idea since December and I finally had the inspiration thanks to Claire!
> 
> Ps. Lyft is a car taxi service app like Uber.

Sleeping is a pathetically inaccurate description of what Simon is currently trying to accomplish. Keeping the grim reaper himself… herself?... themself? away from collecting Simon’s soul, through will and determination alone, is way more accurate of a description. Actually, Simon never thought about the gender identity of the grim reaper before. He’s always imagined him as a scrawny old white man but now -damn it!  A pain in Simon’s bladder interrupts his poor attempt at diverting his brain from the fact that he feels like he's been run over by a truck then ate whatever roadkill was also hit before upchucking it all as another truck drives by, spraying mud and gravel at his miserable form. He’s been in this sad state of denial of not quite sleeping but still putting up a good fight to return to the land of pain free dreams for the past fifteen minutes though with the way his bladder is screaming at him, it feels like an hour. The intense throbbing behind his eyes threatens him with more pain if he even considers relieving his hands from their current duty of blocking out all outside light. Acid churning inside his body promises to show itself outside his body if he moves a fraction of an inch out of the laying down position he is currently in.

And god, now add the sharp, insistent poking in his ribs that is definitely not helping any portion of this situation either. Maybe death is the best option. His voice is rough from the dryness of his throat as he manages to scrape the bottom of his energy reserve to groan out, “Clary, I know this is payback for my whole _‘I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention’_ phase I went through in middle school but now is not the time to extract revenge. I’m too hungover and just barely out of the grim reaper’s grasp.”

“So he lives,” responds a voice that is at least ten times deeper and raspier than even the best Clary Batman impersonation (Christian Bale franchise specifically). Fear overrides the nausea Simon’s feeling as he snaps his eyes open, whipping his head to the side to look at the source of the voice. It’s a move at a speed that he regrets almost immediately for a multitude of reasons:  
1\. It amps his headache at least two notches on the pain meter.  
2\. It makes his vision spin which is less than ideal to add to the mix.  
And 3. It does not allow him any time to pretend the outcome could be something better than the site of a total stranger in a totally strange environment.  
Simon’s eyes latch on the blue and brown heterochromatic eye of the stranger. Simon can’t help a panic induced thought that crosses his mind: this person kidnapped him last night. It’s a thought that hits him as he focuses his eyes out to take in the stranger’s dangerous aesthetic of a dark t-shirt that barely fits across a broad muscular chest, their ripped up and dirty jeans, perfectly coiffed blonde hair, and a pink tinted pale white face with cheekbones so sharp they look like they would cut Simon if he reached out to touch them. Even crouched on the floor at eye level with Simon, the strength in the stranger’s bunched thighs and crossed arms is blatantly obvious.

“You’re not Clary…” Simon says slowly as if some way, somehow the person in front of him will transform themselves into his best friend. The stranger grins cheekily as if that statement is amusing, “Nope.” Simon focuses his eyes behind this stranger to verify the terrifying second realization: he has no idea where he is right now. This room is not familiar in the slightest to him. The comfort level of the couch being way higher than his, should have been the first sign but his pounding headache wouldn’t let him dwell on it for too long. “This isn’t my apartment…”

The fucker has the audacity to grin wider at Simon’s confusion as they say, “Nope,” again! These responses are increasing the likelihood that this stranger is a kidnapper in Simon’s mind. Another idea comes to mind: “Wait, did we… hook up last night?”

The stranger pulls their face back in disgust at Simon’s question, “What? God no.”

Simon’s pride is only a little hurt by that unenthused response but he realizes it’s for the best. If he were to hook up with someone that looked like that stranger, he’d want to be fully present to remember every detail for posterity/bragging rights. So they’re potentially being a kidnapper is back on the table as an option. Simon gestures vaguely between the two of them, “Right, I’m not your type.”

The stranger/potential kidnapper (official name in Simon’s mind until confirmed otherwise) pulls their eyebrows down in a look that manages to convey annoyance and confusion, “You said that last night too. You were barely sober enough last night to walk, never mind consent to any degree of kissing or sex.”

Simon nods his head at that, feeling a little bit relieved that this stranger/potential kidnapper has a set of morals that ranks higher than most. The head jostling was a mistake though, Simon’s head throbs which makes his vision spin and his stomach threatens to make its contents shared with the outside world again. He can’t help the groan he lets out as he leans his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes to stop the spinning at least.

“Here, eat this. I thought you might need it when you woke up.” Simon peeks an eye open, turning his head slightly to look at the plate with two slices of wheat toast the stranger/potential kidnapper is holding out to him. Simon takes the plate slowly, looking from the toast to the stranger/potential kidnapper’s face, “Is it poisoned?”

The stranger/potential kidnapper raises an eyebrow as they shake their head side to side, “No?”

The intonation at the end of their answer is not convincing to Simon. “That’s exactly what a kidnapper would say to their victim if the food was poisoned.”

They shake their head again but with a small smile like they are almost… fond of Simon. They take the top slice of toast off the plate and take a big bite out of it, then another. They maintain eye contact as they chew then swallow. They raise both of their eyebrows as if to say ‘there – your turn’ when they return the half eaten slice to the plate.

Simon figures it’s as good of a sign as he’s gonna get and it really will help with the acid in his stomach. He takes a bite of the toast, not tasting anything off or out of the ordinary, and swallows it down. The stranger/potential kidnapper tilts their head slightly, “You really don't remember me from last night do you?” Simon shakes his head side to side, well aware of the glaring evidence of just how much he over did his alcohol consumption last night. People like the stranger/potential kidnapper in front of him have a face that one has to be extremely, extremely drunk to not remember. They let out an amused chuckle, their smile so disarmingly charming that if Simon wasn’t already laying down he's positive he would have swooned. “My name’s Jace, preferred pronouns he/him, and I swear on my life that I did not kidnap you”.

Beautiful smile influence aside, Simon narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Okay Jace,” he says with a hard j, familiarizing himself with this new name on his tongue, “then how did I get here?”

“You wouldn’t give me your address to take you home because you weren’t sure of my true intentions. So when I offered to take you to my place, you took a snap of my face, posted it to your snap story with my name just in case, and then said ‘to your place, we shall go’. You proceeded to talk like Yoda for the whole 20 minute Lyft ride here. “

Jace says this all with absolutely no hesitancy, like those series of events are something he’s thought about so much since they happened that he’s normalized them. It’s pretty much the opposite of how Simon feels. He is proud of drunk!him’s resourcefulness and precaution for his personal safety although he’s pretty sure if he took a picture of Jace it wasn’t as a safety measure but rather as evidence that someone as beautiful as Jace not only exists but even as a stranger, cared about his general well being. Simon nods his head slowly side to side at the last bit, only a little embarrassed that his Yoda impersonation lasted so long but not surprised it happened. He’s been re-watching the Star Wars movies with Maia and Clary lately so of course Yoda is going to be on his mind.

“Anyway, making sure you got somewhere you could rest safely was the least I could do since my sister’s the reason you got so drunk at the bar.” Jace says as he glances at the ground, avoiding eye contact and missing Simon’s truly perplexed expression. “What.” Confusion colors Simon’s words to the point where it loses punctuation. He takes a couple of bites out of the toast as his mind flips through all the different ways that Jace could think he’s tied to the why of Simon accidentally getting blackout drunk when Simon knows the real reason directly correlates to the one slice of pizza he had for dinner.

Jace scratches the back of his head; his hand runs through the soft looking blonde fluff on top of his head as he looks back up. “My sister’s the one that started dancing with that girl you’re in love with.” Simon draws his brows even closer together in confusion at Jace’s reasoning because he hasn’t fallen in love for years and definitely hasn’t even had a real crush on a girl in potentially just as long. Jace must be watching the distance between Simon’s eyebrows disappear quickly because he attempts to clarify, uncertainty coloring his voice, “Your date? The redhead you came to the bar with?”

With the descriptor of redhead, finally some of Simon’s confusion is resolved, even though the other details are painfully inaccurate. “Oh Clary?! She’s my best friend!”

Jace raises one perfectly shaped eyebrows in response to Simon’s outburst. “Yeah and? I’m sure the man falling in love with his best friend that’s a woman is a popular trope for a reason.”

“Or it stems from a lack of understanding in society of how to treat women as human beings instead of sexualized objects that would never just be befriended.” Simon answers immediately back. It’s a topic that Clary and him discuss often as a result of strong societal pressure growing up as best friends to unearth some semblance of romantic feelings for each other that they just don’t feel. They even tried dating in high school but obviously it didn’t work out and that’s a discussion for another day. “Clary’s practically my sister and I’m not into incest,” Simon adds before finishing off a slice of toast.

If Simon knew Jace better, he’d say that Jace looks almost relieved. Jace’s grin is borderline teasing with the cocked eyebrow, “Well you were the one crying about never finding love at a bar - sorry for misreading the situation.”

“What you got against crying?” Simon asks with a raised brow and a mouth full of barely chewed bread, spitting out a couple of crumbs in the process.

“It shouldn’t be done alone at a bar, surrounded by empty shot glasses. That’s how bad habits are formed.” Jace says without an ounce of judgement in his voice as he shrugs nonchalantly.

“Good point.” Simon pauses for a moment, trying to size up whether or not Jace would admit to ever having cried in his life, childhood included. He does have that bad boy vibe going on with his ripped black jeans and tight shirt, but his hair looks soft and his blue/brown eyes sad so Simon figures he probably isn’t bluffing right now. “And I was crying about love _but_ it was because I bought shots for this engaged couple cause both of them accidentally chose the same bar for their bachelor party because it’s where they met each other like seven years ago after Pride.” Simon explains as he looks over Jace’s shoulder, recounting the memory. His heart pangs at the reminder of just how in love they looked, like there was no place they rather be to celebrate the end of their single life than together. “I want that kind of love.”

Jace’s quiet voice brings Simon back from his memory, “Things not working out between you and your partner?”

“What?” Simon feels like they might be having two different conversations now, wondering if he mentioned something about being in a relationship last night. “No I don't have a partner - I've been painfully single since my boyfriend and I broke up three years ago.”

Jace’s whole face perks up at that comment but Simon can’t tell if it is out of joy or general surprise. “Oh but you do date men?”

“Yeah,” Simon draws out slowly, not sure of the sexuality views of the company he’s currently keeping. He realizes that he already admitted he had a boyfriend and Jace purposefully said the word partner so he might as well reveal his sexuality. “I’m pan.”

”Well that makes me feel way better about letting you into my house.” Jace responds which makes Simon pulls his eyebrows down into a deeper v, eating the last piece of toast to occupy his mouth so he doesn’t interrupt Jace. He can see the excitement in Jace’s eyes that Simon associates with when he meets another member of the LGBT+ community but he has literally no clue what Jace could be talking about in that moment. Jace’s pause is clearly meant to lull Simon into a false sense of security and confusion before pulling the rug out from under him with another embarrassing detail about the night. “And that when you threw up last night after I asked you out, it was cause you really were _that_ drunk, not cause you’re homophobic to the point of nausea.”

Simon’s face turns bright tomato red in mortification from his sloppy drunk vomit inducing antics before the rest of Jace’s words catch up with him. He whips his head to look at Jace again, his words a mess of embarrassed and confused, “you what?!”

Jace’s eyes widen slightly at Simon’s response which makes him wince at his borderline angry tone. He’s about to backtrack through an apology when Jace speaks up, talking slowly as if the speed of his words was the reason for Simon’s confusion. “I asked you out.” Now that Simon is 100% confident that he heard those words out of Jace’s mouth, crystal fucking clear, he nods his head to himself slowly as he processes them. Jace shrugs as his eyes look down to the floor, “and I was hoping that breakfast at the diner down the street could be our first date, if you’d also want that.”

Simon’s eyes trace over Jace’s turned down face, taking in the fluffiness of his blonde hair and the slight pink tint on the top of his cheeks. Simon mentally catalogues everything that he knows about this stranger in front of him. Even though his reservoir of information is solely shaped through Jace’s viewpoint, something in Simon’s gut (other than the now quiet acid) feels drawn to him, making Simon believe in the validity of Jace’s words and Simon always trusts his gut. Simon’s brain churns for so long that the silence after that suggestion feels harsh even to his ears. Jace looks up from the ground, his eyes locked and questioning on Simon, causing the thoughts in Simon’s head to become a little more jumbled. “I want you...to do that… breakfast I mean… A date for breakfast sounds good.”

Jace’s smile blooms like a buttercup first thing in the morning, slowly but so sure of itself in its search for light, the cocky self confidence that Jace seems to ooze effortlessly blending with something a little less sure, but hopeful just the same. “Good, Sounds great - do you wanna use the bathroom while I get my wallet and shoes?”

“Great - yeah that’d be great.” Simon echoes back with a broad smile, feeling genuinely excited for his first date in years. Jace guides Simon to the bathroom before pausing in the doorway of Simon’s long awaited salvation. “Oh I almost forgot, you’re phone died when we got in last night so I charged it while we slept. Here - in case you wanna update your friends that you’re okay.”

Jace adds with a wink as he fishes Simon’s phone out of the back pocket of his jeans before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him. Simon reboots his phone, pleased to see a series of texts from Clary saying that someone named Izzy vouched for Jace and that he should be in good hands but if he isn’t, Clary is going to kick Jace's ass. Simon’s heart melts at his best friend’s concern, knowing damn well that she means it too. He opens up Snapchat, curious about whether he actually sent the picture or if Jace was making it up. What he finds in his story makes him bark out a laugh. He saves the picture because while it’s a barely legible message, it's still a half decent photo that he wants to remember. Plus, it makes for a great origin story.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if I should add any tags or what you think in the comments!
> 
> [find me and this post on tumblr!](https://mel-iorn.tumblr.com/post/160644290456/jimon-33)


End file.
